


This Is Acting

by winwinism



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Canon Universe, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:08:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22183837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winwinism/pseuds/winwinism
Summary: Sicheng took some coaxing to fuck Ten the way he likes, but he’s always been a devoted learner.
Relationships: Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten
Comments: 14
Kudos: 117





	This Is Acting

Sicheng took some coaxing to fuck Ten the way he likes, but he’s always been a devoted learner. And he was so eager, too, never indulging in performative, aegyo-ridden whining the way he does during their English lessons. Rather, he was somewhat of a model student. A joy to have in class. 

Sicheng fists the black leather choker at the back of Ten’s neck and yanks him up, pulling the metal O-ring against his throat and bringing the arch of Ten’s spine to his chest. He’s still fully clothed, shirt unbuttoned, no doubt, judging by the folds of his collar, sleeves rolled up before he gets his hands dirty. Those long-fingered, slender hands. The things those hands can do, the man he was a few months ago would’ve scarcely believed. 

“You’re hard,” Sicheng observes. His voice is placid, conversational. Ten has to admit it. The sky blue boy shorts he’s wearing--and those are all he’s wearing, aside from the choker--don’t hide much. “Were you touching yourself?” 

“Nah,” Ten says, a little wheezy with the air shortage. “Just waiting for you, baby.” 

“Good imagination?”

“The best.” He turns his head the few inches Sicheng’s hold will allow, winks up at his stony face. He’s so fucking cute, even like this--it gives him butterflies. “You know, right?”

Sicheng grips his jaw and forces his head back around so he’s facing the wall. “Head down,” he intones. Ten obeys, squeezing his thighs together. “Was it your imagination, then, that brought you to my room? Where--” Sicheng’s shoe taps something soft, drags it around on the tiled floor with whispers of fabric as he pulls the choker tighter in sharp intervals. “--you leave your clothes on the floor, and roll around in my bed?” 

“Mm-hmm.” 

“Tell me what you were thinking.” 

“Horny,” Ten says. “Couldn’t focus on drawing. Wanted to get fucked.” 

Sicheng processes this for a moment. Ten thinks he might be licking his lips. A shiver of a smile starts to overcome him. “And how might I help with that?” 

“I don’t know,” Ten singsongs. “You don’t have to. Maybe I just like smelling your linen.” Sicheng does have a great scent. A real expensive musk. 

“You left the door unlocked. Anyone could have come in.” Seen him nearly-naked, aroused, lounging in Sicheng’s sleeping space like it was his own. Sicheng doesn’t need to say it. 

“Lucky no one did, then, huh? Private show, for your eyes only.” 

“What if Lucas came back?” Un-fucking-likely--Ten knows he won’t be leaving the gym for another few hours unless the world is ending. “Would you have let him fuck you?” Another tug at the choker, and Ten’s blood _sings_. “Rolling around like a bitch in heat, any cock would do.”

“Never,” he gasps. Besides, Lucas doesn’t go for boy pussy. “Only want Sicheng’s cock.” 

“I’m not convinced,” Sicheng says. His voice is hot against the shell of Ten’s ear, unaffected to any but the most careful observer. “You know the details of our arrangement. My terms. I come to you when I need something on my dick. Not the other way around.” 

“What if Sicheng doesn’t fuck me enough?” 

“I don’t negotiate with whores,” Sicheng tells him, and shoves Ten down onto the bed.

Ten makes a small noise at the impact, legs folding up behind him and dangling over his ass. Sicheng bends over him immediately, pressing his legs apart and curling his hands around the hem of his boy shorts, pulling them down over the curve of his ass to sit on his upper thighs before Ten can think to protest. Elegant fingers trail over his cheeks, gentle for one heart-stopping moment before Sicheng grips the thick muscle and pries him apart, exposing his waxed-pink hole to the cool air of the bedroom. Ten buries his head into his arms, face hot. Sicheng eyes are like a physical touch as he examines him--long enough that Ten will make fun of him for it later. He’s such a fucking pervert. Then, a finger prods at him--just ghosting over the entrance, tracking up the excess lube from Ten’s too-recent adventures. He can hardly breathe.

“You’re wet,” Sicheng murmurs. “Either you grew a pussy while I wasn’t paying attention, or you’ve been fucking fingering yourself.” Sicheng cleans him personally after each time they fuck, and it’s been days. There’s no way out of it.

“Baby,” Ten starts to whine, but cuts himself off when Sicheng immediately releases him, stepping back with a rush of cold air. He tenses, then--“ _Ah!_ ”

The outline of Sicheng’s hand throbs on Ten’s left cheek, sending hot pulses of blood southward. 

“So forceful, Sicheng,” Ten says airily. “Those arm exercises Xiaojun gave you must be doing their magic.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath, and Sicheng hits him again, this time on the other cheek. Ten bites his forearm. 

“You lied,” Sicheng says, a bit more effort behind his words than before. “Didn’t touch yourself, my fucking cock.” 

“Didn’t touch my dick!” Ten manages, lifting himself up a bit on his elbows even as his head spins. “I didn’t mean--”

“Think that matters? Huh?” Footsteps--Sicheng must be pacing behind him, slowly, not letting Ten leave his sight. He wonders if Sicheng will spank him again. He wonders if he’ll leave. “Think I’m a fucking joke?”

“No, baby, please--” The footsteps stop, and Ten rushes to get his words out. “I wasn’t trying to get off, just getting ready for you. So you could take me more quickly.” His ears heat up with each confession. “So I wouldn’t. Inconvenience you.” 

“Inconvenience me?” Sicheng laughs. Nothing like his usual unrestrained, windshield-wiper amusement: it’s low, sardonic. “Didn’t want to _inconvenience_ me? Think you’ve done more than enough to _inconvenience_ me now, haven’t you?”

“Y-yeah. I’m sorry, baby.” 

“Sorry?” Sicheng wonders. He waits. 

A few swift footsteps mark Sicheng’s approach; and at once, there are hands on Ten’s hips, pulling him up so that his limp torso is propped up by his knees, spread just so that Sicheng has a clear view of what lies between. Ten’s erection bobs and curves towards his stomach, wetness smeared at the tip. 

“No,” Sicheng says, “I don’t think you’re sorry.”

Ten’s knees threaten to slip apart, but Sicheng holds them fast. “Please,” he begs. He wants to see Sicheng’s face. The flush in his cheeks, the wildness in his eyes. “I’m sorry--hit me again, I’ve been bad--”

“No,” Sicheng repeats, and Ten resists the urge to hit _himself_ for the slip-up. Of course Sicheng wouldn’t just do what he asked. He’d probably cum untouched if Sicheng spanked him again. They do it so rarely, and Ten drowns in it every time.

Sicheng draws away, leaving Ten cold again. He holds his breath; sweat beads on his brow, collects between his thighs. Footsteps, and Sicheng begins rummaging under the bed. At once, Ten’s heart leaps into his throat. There’s a box there, with whose contents he is intimately acquainted. Which means this could get good, or very good--each option better than the last. 

He thinks his cock is dripping onto the sheets. 

“Kneel,” comes Sicheng’s abrupt command. Ten complies immediately, pushing himself off the mattress and straightening his back. Sicheng grabs his hands and gathers them at the small of his back, loops a familiar hemp rope around their wrists. He knots it in seconds, and Ten struggles a bit, experimentally--not a hair’s breadth of slack. He feels hot all over. 

Then, without warning, darkness. Sicheng’s knuckles brush against his cheekbones, the back of his neck as he lays the royal blue silk blindfold over Ten’s eyes and ties it behind his head. 

“Fuck, Sicheng,” Ten whimpers, and Sicheng lets air out of his nose in what might be amusement. Ten wants to see him so badly. Maybe teaching Sicheng what he wants so well was a bad move, after all. 

“I’d gag you, too, but I like hearing you beg.” 

Ten whines. “I won’t, then,” he says, rolling his shoulders. He can almost hear the arch of Sicheng’s eyebrow. They both know that’s a lie. 

He kneels patiently as Sicheng steps away from him again, fussing with his clothes and presumably stripping, leaving layers on the floor along with Ten’s. When Sicheng returns and presses his chest against the straight line of Ten’s back, there’s skin on skin. Ten gasps, stifles another when a forearm wraps around his front and a hand grapples his jaw, twisting his head to face Sicheng. 

Sicheng hums, satisfied, and presses a lingering kiss to Ten’s parted lips. The second one brings tongue, forceful and exploratory, slow and dirty the way Sicheng likes; bound by words and rope, Ten can do little but receive. He meets Sicheng’s kisses as best he can, feels his impatience growing. 

“Sicheng,” he murmurs as they part. Sicheng silences him with a firm kiss; the hand on his jaw moves to his neck, splaying gentle pressure over his windpipe and brushing over sensitive skin. Oh, fuck. Fingers curl around the ring of his choker, then yank him up, tip his head back so Sicheng can mouth over his jaw and behind his ear. 

He starts sucking a mark along his pulse point, and Ten would curse him if he didn’t know better--he’ll have to cover it up with foundation, somehow avoid Hendery’s questioning--but those thoughts are soon overtaken by the pounding of blood in his ears. 

“Sure taking your sweet time,” Ten says. His voice doesn’t quaver. “Is Sicheng shy?” 

The arm around his stomach constricts. “Patience,” Sicheng says, biting the skin where he’d sucked a mark, “is a virtue.”

“Like you’re so virtuous.” 

“What I am is none of your concern,” Sicheng responds smoothly. “One thing that is, however.” 

“What?” Ten breathes--then lets out a choked-out gasp as his neck is released and a hand wraps around the base of his cock. Sicheng squeezes him so tightly it hurts, his rough, careless touch scraping along his nerve endings like sandpaper. 

Sicheng mouth lowers to his ear. “Knowing your place.” 

Ten sighs as his erection is released, Sicheng pushing him away and leaving him cold. “And where’s that?” 

“For now?” Sicheng sounds like he’s thinking about it. “On your back. Knees up.” 

A little sigh punches out of him. Ten shuffles forward a bit, then rolls over, squaring his shoulders and propping up his knees dutifully as he stares in complete darkness. The mattress dips. The image of Sicheng crawling towards him, probably down to his boxers, feels so vivid it’s like the blindfold isn’t even there. 

He almost relaxes into the hands that come to his hips, tugging at the waistband of his boy shorts until they slip over his knees and off, tossed aside with the rest of their garments. Ten’s throat bobs. Hands like firebrands part his thighs, a heavy breath lowering to meet them. Sicheng kisses the soft part of his upper thigh, nips at the skin. 

“Owing that you’ve violated the terms of our arrangement,” Sicheng hums, “you deserve nothing.” 

“I didn’t cum, I swear--”

“No touching,” Sicheng reminds him evenly. “No play. You’re awfully brave, playing innocent at a time like this.”

Lips curve into a smile as Sicheng presses his face against Ten’s left thigh. Fuck, Sicheng must be looking at him. Laughing at the pathetically hard cock bobbing in his face. He’s torn between shame and arousal, and burgeoning gratitude that he’s blindfolded--the sight of Sicheng’s kiss-slick lips that close to his dick would probably set him off in a heartbeat. 

“Consider yourself lucky. You caught me in a good mood. And I like the picture you paint in my bed. Bent over with your pretty hole up in the air.”

Shame wins out. 

“Yeah?” Ten huffs. “Wanna wet your dick with it?” 

“You’ve got some fucking nerve,” Sicheng says. “You’re not even gonna touch this dick. Roll over with me.” 

Ten makes a confused sound of protest, but Sicheng takes action anyway, hands digging into his hips and maneuvering his body until he settles heavily across Sicheng’s bare chest, facing the headboard. His brain shorts out. “Sicheng, what are you--”

“Come on, sweetheart.” Sicheng’s voice is a smirk personified. “Sit on my face.” 

A noise like a sob emits from his throat, but he obeys, inches up on his knees and shuffles forward as best he can with his hands bound. Sicheng’s hands curl around his thighs and haul him forward the last bit until Ten’s knees dig into the pillows on either side of Sicheng’s small, perfect head. 

He can feel Sicheng’s breath on his dick. There’s no way. 

Sicheng kisses the inside of his thigh, devastatingly soft. A smile tugs at Sicheng’s lips. He moves, mouths over the crease where his thigh and ass meet. Ten’s legs are powerful, rendered from steel, but now they tremble minutely--anticipation overtakes him, fogs his brain like breath on cool glass. 

“What’re you doing,” Ten mumbles. 

“What do you think?” His voice is easy, no trace of the whip-sharp anger that controlled him just minutes ago. “Use that imagination of yours. It got you this far.” 

Sicheng pulls him forward again, and Ten lurches, back curling inelegantly--then, before he can protest, Sicheng’s clever hands slide from his thighs to ass, grip the thick muscle and _spread_. 

He feels Sicheng’s exhale all over his taint. “Mm, it’s good to reacquaint oneself with one’s property. Lest we forget.” Sicheng blows a stream of air at his hole, and Ten feels himself clench up. “Cute.”

“Sicheng,” Ten pleads.

“Don’t you dare cum, by the way.” He feels a shift underneath him, and then Sicheng’s nosing over his perineum, tongue rolling out and licking a fat, wet stripe over the furl of muscle like it’s his god-given right. 

A shudder rolls through Ten’s body. 

Sicheng tastes him lazily, gliding his tongue around the rim and dipping up towards his taint, then back. He makes a noise of relish, says, “You’re loose. Been fucking yourself sloppy on those dildos under your bed while I’m not around? Would you even feel it if I put my tongue in you?”

“You’re exaggerating,” Ten whimpers, holding fast the other words brimming in him: _I haven’t touched those since we started fucking_. _I feel everything you do to me_. He’d be a fool to respond with sincerity to a tease. Sicheng huffs with amusement. Presses a kiss right over his hole.

“How’s a little whore hole like yours taste so good, hmm?” Kisses him again, like he intends to make out with it. “You plug yourself up with sugar?” 

_You’ve got a dirty fucking mouth_ , Ten thinks, opens his mouth to say it--and promptly abandons all intention to do anything but moan when Sicheng digs his hands into Ten’s buttocks and thrusts his tongue inside. 

Ten is loose, two illicit fingers’ worth, but this. Oh _fuck_ , does he feel it. Soft, wet muscle, feeling him open like he did his mouth just minutes ago, setting his nerve endings alight until his body’s drawn tight like a bowstring, trembling at the brim of Sicheng’s mouth. Sicheng draws his tongue out, thrusts back in, conducting wide sweeps; Ten’s stomach clenches and unclenches beyond his will. 

It’s the novelty of the act, the rarity--he can count on one hand without bothering with the thumb, the other times. The fact that it’s Sicheng, not his own too-short fingers prodding miserably at his prostate, but _Sicheng_ \--sweet, shy, beloved, a fantastic actor--eating him open like he’s hungry for it, like he’s starved for something inside him.

Fingers dig into his flesh, grind him against Sicheng’s mouth with a slow, shallow rhythm that lets Sicheng tongue-fuck him the way he wants. Ten feels as if his entire body is bound, not just his wrists. He kind of wishes he was. 

“ _Nnngh_ ,” he groans, then, haltering: “Gege…”

Sicheng moans into him--makes some kind of noise of approval, anyway--and Ten feels the vibrations bone-deep. He shivers. He’s never felt so open, raw like an exposed nerve, shoulders drawn back by the rope and legs forced apart. He’s putty in Sicheng’s hands, on his lips. The thought that being on top usually denotes power occurs to him. Ten could laugh. 

His head lolls back on when tongue sweeps past a particular sweet spot inside him--then Sicheng’s rhythm slows until he draws out, and Ten whines helplessly, the slight emptiness and trails of spit making him want to close his legs--but he can’t. Sicheng holds his thighs fast, resumes teasing around his saliva-slick rim with slow, easy strokes.

“Could do this for hours,” Sicheng confesses hotly, “if my jaw wouldn’t fucking split open. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

The momentary respite from stimulation allows Ten to gather his thoughts. “I’d break your nose first,” he gasps out. Sicheng chuckles. 

“I’d do you from behind. No, better--I’d tie you up, suspend you so I wouldn’t have to lift a finger.” _Do you even know how to do that?_ Ten wants to ask, but the idea sears him in a way he can’t describe. He’ll teach Sicheng, he decides. They’ll learn together. Sicheng kisses him open-mouthed, frenching his asshole like the dirty motherfucker he is, and murmurs against him: “Put a cock ring on you and leave you like that all day.” 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Ten hisses. The flood of imagery makes his cock throb. He squeezes his eyes shut under the blindfold and tries to settle his own arousal--then Sicheng’s tongue penetrates him again, and his efforts drain away, immaterial in the face of aching pleasure, need, Sicheng. “Gege, please!”

Sicheng pauses, withdraws his tongue. He eyes must be wandering. Seeing the red in his slack, panting face, his stiff nipples, his cock. _Touch me, just a press of lips, enough to gloss your lips with my precum and I’ll cum_ , Ten begs silently, while half of him clings to Sicheng’s order, the threat implicit there. This isn’t for him. He won’t cum, not from this, not tonight. This is a reminder that he is owned. 

A hands smooths over his buttocks, and then there are fingers prodding at his hole, Sicheng’s slender ring finger slipping easily through the wet furl of muscle. Ten arches, shuddering around the intrusion until it withdraws just as easily as it came. He waits.

“I’ve had my fill,” Sicheng says, voice rougher than Ten’s ever heard it. “Turn over. Belly up.” 

Ten accepts the assistance of Sicheng’s strength gratefully, heaving his shaking thighs off his chest and sitting him upright beside Sicheng. The mattress dips as Sicheng sits up as well; but before Ten can follow Sicheng’s command, hands reach around his head, undoing the knot securing the blindfold. The movement brings Sicheng’s face close, hot breath fanning over Ten’s cheek--then the fabric falls. Ten blinks. 

Sicheng’s eyes are lidded, but his pupils are wide, high cheekbones stained red and an obscene gloss on his lips. The flush extends down his bare chest, rising and falling with short breaths, and Ten’s eyes track down further, to his--

“You heard me,” Sicheng murmurs. Oh, fuck. Ten shutters his eyes and scoots down the bed, belly up as requested with his torso half-propped against the headboard and bound wrists pressed uncomfortably against his the small of his back, legs kicked up so Sicheng can kneel between them. His heart hammers. There’s a telltale click of a lube bottle uncapping--retrieved earlier when Ten wasn’t aware, probably--and his eyes fly open. The room is too bright, suddenly, Sicheng’s visage too much for him to endure. Fuck, maybe he should ask to be blindfolded again. 

Sicheng’s eyes slide from his face to his prone body, the slick spot he’d just worked open with his tongue, pouring a small measure of lubricant onto his fingers and rubbing it between them. 

“Are you being good?” Sicheng asks him. He doesn’t look up. 

Ten’s mouth is dry. Is he? His skin aches for touch; he swears his balls are inches from tightening up. Sicheng will edge him for weeks if he cums now. There’ll be no end to it. If Ten confessed, Sicheng would probably leave him be, let him cool off with a cold shower. Alone. Sicheng would go play a videogame or something, not thinking about his sub or said sub’s uncontrollable cravings for dick, certainly not about how beautiful and strong he is, or how sexy he looks when he’s close to cumming. 

Sicheng’s eyes flick up to meet Ten’s; one brow arches. Ten dismisses the thought in an instant and nods vigorously. “Mm-hmm! The best.” 

“Are you,” Sicheng intones, like he’s reading Ten’s mind. Maybe he can. “Open up.” 

Ten spreads legs wider, and Sicheng grips his thigh, pressing it towards his chest the way he does when they fuck missionary. Ten follows the way Sicheng’s lube-slick hand moves towards his center, drawing his eyes below his waistline. Sicheng’s still wearing his Calvin Kleins, but the outline of his dick is unmistakable--swollen and thick, curving towards his stomach within the fabric confines. Ten wants to tear up. Holy fuck, Sicheng is right there, he could just--take it out, slick himself up a bit and press inside. Ten would take it so well; he’s no stranger to doing it on insufficient prep. Likes it that way. He’d let Sicheng split him open, mold him into any shape he wants. 

A little whimper trickles out of his throat. Sicheng blinks up at him again. He doesn’t look down as his hand meets Ten’s taint, thumb pressing against his hole. Watching for a reaction. Ten bites his lip and stares back, trying not to look pathetic. 

Sicheng lets his fingers drag along the skin there, then crooks two fingers his index and ring finger and presses them into his hole without preamble. Ten gasps. A smirk starts to curve Sicheng’s filthy lips. 

“Two, was it?” he asks, conversationally. “Is that how many you had?” 

Ten hesitates; the fingers slide out, thrust back in sharply. “Yes! Two. Just two.” 

“For preparing yourself?” Sicheng crooks his fingers, searching. “When have we used only two?” 

“I don’t know,” Ten mumbles. The memories seem far away. Maybe they have, when they slept together after fucking and Ten was still loose when they woke up before dawn, enough that Sicheng only had to spread him open and slide back in, making short, deep thrusts with a hand tight over Ten’s mouth so his moans didn’t wake up their members. Maybe he just has a vivid imagination. 

“Maybe we should.” Sicheng thrusts in and out with rhythm, now, sending dangerous hiccups of pleasure through Ten’s body. “Better to keep you tight. Your body can take it.” 

“Yes, yes, Sicheng!” He wriggles in his binds, having forgotten the rope. “You know, I’d take you so well, let you cum inside--”

Sicheng chuckles. “Dream about it, sweetheart.” He releases Ten’s thigh, and, without slowing his thrusts, tugs the waistband of his boxers down to his thighs. Sicheng’s cock springs free, hard and wet at the purplish tip, clean shaven at the root. He wraps his left hand around the base, and Ten actually starts to tear up, mouth opening on a wordless sigh. 

Sicheng’s eyes flutter closed. Slowly, he starts to stroke himself, loose on the first few passes until he gathers the precum dripping from his slit and slicks himself up, knuckles tightening against his girth. He fingerfucks Ten with his right hand with equal leisure, seemingly no goal except to drive Ten insane. Sicheng starts to pant open mouthed. Smiles. 

“You’re so wet, Ten,” he huffs. Ten wants to smack him, wants him so much he could die. “I could fuck you so easy. Slide right in.” 

“Then do it,” Ten begs. “Please, please, please, _gege_ , please--”

“Nope.” His lips pop around the _p_ sound. Sicheng crooks his fingers, and with the precision only experience can provide, jabs then against Ten’s swollen, neglected prostate. 

Ten shouts a curse. He doesn’t catch which one, or which language; all he senses is his vision whiting out for a terrifying second, coming down to the paralyzing fear that he’d just cum. He hadn’t. His cock lies, still, hard against his stomach. “Fuck, Sicheng!”

“Good?” Ten shoots him the most furious glare he can muster. Then Sicheng does it again, and he sees stars. He wonders if he came dry. He wonders if that’s possible. Sicheng fists his cock with increasing enthusiasm--Ten never knew he was ambidextrous when it came to jacking off--eyes now fixed on his fingers fucking in and out of Ten. “I like that. Gets you all tight. Wonder how it’d feel around my cock.”

“Then find out!” Ten bursts out. “Stop fucking around and fuck me!” The shame melts over him just as quickly. Of course, Sicheng already knows how it feels. So much for not looking pathetic.

Sicheng lips curve as he studies him. “You really don’t know when to give up, do you.” 

The next time, Sicheng’s fingers massage him until his entire body locks up and his vision whites out for seconds. His gaze is different when Ten comes down, less controlled. Sicheng’s brow furrows as he focuses on bringing himself off, fingers slowing inside of Ten while his left hand speeds up. 

“Think I should film you next time,” Sicheng huffs out. “You fucking porn star. Fuck, that was so hot.” Ten’s entire body burns at the praise. Holy _shit_. He watches as Sicheng curls over himself, abs tensing. Slowing his thrusts to a stop, he draws his hand out of Ten’s ass and pitches forward, plunging his soiled hand into the sheets beside Ten’s torso. His eyes shutter against the feeling of his own hand, then pop open, dark eyes boring into Ten’s. “Gonna cum on you.”

“Please,” Ten says. He doesn’t even need to think it before he says it. There’s nothing he wants more. Sicheng gasps, the most vulnerable sound he’s heard from him since they started. His body jerks forward, eyes closing again as his strokes stutter--and then he’s cumming in wet spurts across Ten’s chest, neck, a spot on his chin. 

Sicheng strokes himself through it, shaking minutely, mouth open and brow perfectly creased--and fucking hell, Sicheng’s O-face has to be one of the Seven Wonders, because Ten has never seen anything more beautiful. Ten knows this. Has made his peace with it, except he hasn’t, and every time is like the first all over again. 

Sicheng’s hand slows to a stop, and his eyes open again, chest heaving. His eyes track over Ten’s body, the streaks of white, until he reaches his gaze. Somehow, he smirks. Ten’s heart skips a beat--he’s still on edge, skin tight and heart going jackrabbit in his chest. Sicheng releases himself and brings his left hand to Ten’s face, thumb ghosting over him until it meets a blob of cum on his chin. 

Ten can no longer breathe. Sicheng watches him carefully as he pushes the glob of semen up to his mouth, parting his lips and pushing it inside. His thumb doesn’t retreat, pressing down on his palate. Ten lets it sit there for a moment. He swallows, noting the bitter taste. 

“Sweet boy,” Sicheng murmurs. 

Then Sicheng shifts, and his knee brushes against Ten’s hardness--or maybe it doesn’t, and he imagines the contact. Maybe it’s only the barest puff of air. The reason is immaterial. Sicheng’s thumb hasn’t even left his mouth, and suddenly, Ten’s balls are tightening, entire body pulled taut and nipples hardening enough to cut glass. He opens his mouth, as if to shout a warning, or say Sicheng’s name, but no sound emerges--and that’s it. Game over. He cums, losing his vision and all bodily awareness as pleasure rockets through him and shoots out of his dick. The tension of the afternoon floods his body in one compressed moment, engaging every muscle, before it releases, and he’s floating, weightless, cumming weakly all over himself while he astral projects somewhere beyond description, then returns to sagging limbs and cooling splotches of wetness on his torso. 

He keeps his eyes squeezed shut. Sicheng’s thumb is no longer in his mouth. He feels his own rapid breath, the weight in the mattress where Sicheng is still propped up over him, and the elation of release quickly subsides to something more like panic. No, closer to anticipation. His heartbeat thuds, but he can’t find the will to open his eyes. 

A hand suddenly rests on his shoulder. The way he arches into it takes him off guard; he shudders as an aftershock rolls through him. Ten moans through his teeth. 

He stills, and finds Sicheng’s hand still rests on him. The touch moves across his still-sensitive skin, shoulder to collarbones, thumbing at his neck. Ten lets his eyes open.

Sicheng’s gaze is unreadable. Stern, dark, filled with something else. Ten swallows. 

“Ten,” he says, voice low. “You’ve been bad.” 

Ten nods slowly. 

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to.” Something in Ten starts at the words. “You were too close. I wanted to see if you would admit that, and--” His eyes flick down at their chests; there are white streaks across Sicheng’s abs, too, and Ten wants to die. “--you didn’t.”

Ten sucks in a breath. “I’m sorry, gege.” 

Sicheng’s eyes snap back to his. Maybe using the nickname now is a bit much. “Are you?” 

Ten doesn’t answer right away. Something in Sicheng’s eyes demands an honest answer, but his pride resists. He parts his lips, forces out the syllable before he can think better of it. “No.”

Sicheng huffs, looks away as if to share the amusement with someone invisible. “Well. Good boys don’t lie, either, do they?” 

“No.” 

“Then let me set an example. Just this once, I won’t lie to you.” Sicheng shifts closer to him until their chests are nearly touching and dips down to mouth against his ear. “I liked it.” 

Ten shivers--Sicheng’s breath tickles him, but his words are worse. “Sicheng…”

Sicheng hums. “I wanted to see you cum. The fact that I didn’t even touch you…” He hisses through his teeth, as if remembering. “You know how long I’ll be thinking about that?” 

Ten feels lightheaded. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Then be quiet for once.” Sicheng pushes back, flashes that horrible smirk. “Oh, and you’re still in for it, don’t think otherwise for a second. You did this to yourself. But for now…” 

The smirk melts away as he trails his hand down Ten’s body, dips his hand into their semen intermingled on his chest. He hums again, and Ten waits, primed for Sicheng’s words--but he doesn’t speak, only draws his hand back and slips off the bed, pulling up his boxers to bare minimum modesty and shuffling over to the bathroom. 

Ten sighs, lets his limbs puddle into the sheets. Small mercies. 

Sicheng returns momentarily with a washcloth soaked in warm water, kneeling on the bed and quietly cleaning Ten from his chin down. Ten lets his eyes shutter, but soon opens them to watch Sicheng’s careful expression, the gentle way he runs the washcloth over his skin. 

Sicheng runs it once over himself, then tosses the dirtied washcloth aside and bends over Ten’s body, settling down on his forearms with hooded eyes. He leans in for a kiss, and Ten almost forgets himself--then recoils, turning his head to the side with a small grin. 

“Ew, Sicheng, at least rinse your mouth first.” 

Sicheng freezes--then, seeming chastised, draws away, rolling his eyes. “Fair.”

“Oh, and--my hands.” Ten wriggles his shoulders, hands still restrained behind him.

“Oh, right.” Sicheng sits back on his knees. “Roll over.” 

Ten complies, and Sicheng unties the rope with a feather-light touch. Ten sighs once released, hugging his arms around his front. “Hmm. I’m kind of numb.” 

Sicheng takes his wrists in hand and draws them to his lips, kissing the slight red marks. “Lotion, later.” 

“I will, baby.” 

Sicheng smiles at him. Ten wonders if it’s the nickname, or just Ten. Then he lets his hands go and steps off of the bed, retrieving his button-down and slinging it around his shoulders. “I’ll get you some juice.” 

Of course. A warm feeling settles over him at the ritual. He watches Sicheng leave, then stares at the ceiling, lets his head drift. 

He hears the door re-open, Sicheng’s socked feet padding over. Sicheng takes one of his hands and presses a cool glass into it. “Drink.” 

Ten sits up, accepting the glass, and tips his head back to take a sip. Orange juice, one of the few tolerable forms of fruit. It revives him, perhaps in a way not purely scientific, and he smiles warmly at Sicheng. “Thank you, baby.” 

Sicheng hums, then tosses a water bottle at him. Ten catches, the plastic crinkling in his hands. “Gonna rinse my mouth.” 

“You do that,” Ten agrees. Sicheng disappears into the bathroom again, and Ten sits back, takes another long swig of orange juice, and sighs. 

He thinks Sicheng is too kind. Maybe he’s not as rough as Ten wants. Maybe he’s just too kind in general. 

Ten always knew Sicheng would be a good fuck, and the way their first kiss confirmed it--the passion burning behind those clumsy, drunken lips, the barely restrained need for control, Ten could scarcely believe. It was too good to be true, that a boy like this had fallen into his lap. That Sicheng needed him in a way that was a perfect complement. 

But it isn’t just the sex. How could it be? He dares anyone to try working, living with this creature and come out unscathed. 

Somehow, Ten thinks he can live with that. 

Sicheng returns after a couple minutes, breath smelling freshly of mint when he lies down next to Ten. He takes the empty glass and sets it on the nearby desk, then rolls onto his side, slides a hand over Ten’s cheek and leans in. 

Sicheng kisses him like this, softly, grounding him effortlessly. Ten feels warm all over, no longer in arousal. He reaches for Sicheng too, clutches his bicep and pulls him closer. Sicheng makes a soft noise into the kiss, and Ten parts just to laugh. 

“Good?” he asks. Sicheng’s lips quirk. 

“Better,” Sicheng says, and leans back in. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/winwinism)


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